Faith Of The Broken
by ImpatientReader1
Summary: Is faith enough to crush the darkness seeping inside the soul of Andraste's chosen, or will the world burn to ashes? [Cullen, F!Trevelyan]


Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bioware

A/N: Thanks to my friend Eltas... best Beta ever..

* * *

The world shifted. The sky, shades of light sapphires interwoven with clouds dense like cotton balls, became something else. The blue sky altered and black streams of thick, mud-like substances streaked across it. The sun vanished and the world became black.

His name repeated as a whisper or a muffled murmur, over and over. "Cullen."

Silence descended the area, throwing the hills he stood upon into an endless void.

The smell of rot assaulted his nostrils, and his stomach pitched. There was no end to the corruption, no end. He tensed. What was this place?

"Cullen." The voice grew insistent. "Cullen."

His head darted left to right. The light had fled, and his eyes couldn't penetrate the way ahead. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Was someone behind him? He whirled, hands reaching for his sword, but grasped empty air. Where was his sword? It didn't matter—even unarmed, he was not defenseless. Yet, as he spun in a circle, searching, no one faced him. There was no one standing there.

He was alone.

"Cullen!"

Or was he?

His stomach turned to ice. _Is this where the damned go to pay their penance?_ He blew out a long breath, laboring to steady his pulse. His fear would not conquer him. He would have control. But, control was a fleeting thing and slipped out of his fingers. He ground his teeth. Adrenaline pumped through his blood, and he crouched low. His muscles strained, readying to spring.

He saw no one.

"Cullen."

He had enough of the whispers. The voices tickled his memories, but as soon as a face came into recollection, it disappeared like mist rising from a lake in the early hours of dawn. Leaves, or what sounded like leaves, brushed against the ground. Yet, there was no wind.

"What do you want from me!"

"Surrender." The tone was dark and ominous.

"Surrender." A child's raised voice echoed in the air.

Surrender? Surrender to what? He remained crouched, weight shifting from left to right. _Must stay strong._ He glanced from side to side, lips set in a grim line. Must s _tay strong._

Whispers floated in the dark, and thoughts swam deep within. He shook his head. This was not right. But, what was right? A daze muddled his brain.

"Cullen please..." _Her_ voice resonated deep within. Solona. A heavy weight pressed against his chest. He could not breathe. Air would not come fast enough. _No_! _She_ cannot be here! She would never be in a place like this!

Her face flashed in his mind, the high cheekbones and full lips. Strawberry blond hair that flowed just beneath her shoulders in soft waves, each strand reflecting the gleam of torchlight. The way the locks seemed to embrace his fingertips as he would brush them through her hair. He squeezed his eyes shut. Those nights. Her soft, delicate body that clung onto his in the night.

She was gone, now. Betrayed by the one who loved her most.

He shook his head. She was gone. He remembered her face as the templars stood in a circle, staring at her through cold eyes. His own stare had been cold. White as porcelain, lips trembling as they tasted betrayal. Emerald green eyes ripping through him, condemning him. It didn't matter, he did not save her. She was made tranquil when that other mage deserted her, and left her for the punishment intended for him. Her pleas still haunted his dreams, but he had stood indifferent to her cries. Because it was his duty. Even if she was his love, it was still his duty. Magic was made to serve man…

He shook his head, fingers digging into the flesh of his palm. He would not think of that day. He would not. This was not real. He blinked. _This was not real! Not real!_

He slammed his fist on his temple and the pain brought clarity. Memories rushed to his addled mind, and he growled. The tower had been overrun by maleficar and abominations. They wish him to surrender?

 _Never._

"This is a lie, blood mage. Demon. An illusion. You will not trap me here!"

"Cullen." Her voice danced across his neck, to his ears, so enticing.

"No!" He closed his eyes. _I will not give in!_

The world shifted once more. He was not in that other place of nightmares, nor was he in green plains under the bright blue sky. The unforgiving stones of the Circle Tower pressed into him. Along with that barrier—the barrier the blood mages erected.

He was alone in this prison.

Light footsteps thumped from the stairs. More mages. He clenched his teeth and wiped the sweat from his brow. Steeling himself for more torture, he stood erect and closed his eyes. He would not turn.

"Cullen." The tone was musical, the notes seared in his brain. "Why do you resist? Open you eyes, my love. Open your eyes."

"You are not her, vile demon."

A succubus stood before him, not her. He knew if he opened his eyes, he would be a mindless husk, trapped in a prison of pleasure and ecstasy until the vile creature drained him of life. Succubi enticed and fed off the wishes and dreams of some poor soul. Most of the other templars faltered—fell to those alluring monsters.

 _I will not be swayed._

"Cullen, this is no illusion. It is me, darling." A swish of fabric and the footsteps grew closer. "Open your eyes. Open them. I long to be in your arms."

"No! Never!"

"I love you, Cullen. Why are you acting this way? It is me..."

He remained silent, squeezing his eyes shut.

Laughter, so beautiful just as he remembered echoed through the room. "Oh, Cullen, my slow fool. Fine, have it your way. Mark my words, you _will_ surrender."

His voice came out as soft as a piece of silk sliding against linen. "I love you. I have always loved you, Solona." He raised his head, chin up. "I will not pollute her memory with this filth."

White hot pain shot through him and his bones convulsed, followed by ice slithering through his body.

He screamed.

###

Evelyn Trevelyan walked the parameter of Haven, peering out into the night. Her palm ached from the accursed mark, but it had been better. A guard nodded at her. The poor guy's cheeks red from the cold wind. He stood hunched over, his furs wrapped around him. Who had he been before this life was thrust upon him? He did not have the look of a battle hardened solider. He did not carry himself as a warrior would. The spear in his hands seemed foreign and not an extension to his calloused hands. Like many others, this man was probably displaced from his home because of the war raging through the lands. A farmer then? She frowned. Those damnable mages and templars. The innocent blood of thousands would sink into the ground before they were through. They killed everyone without distinction. This man standing with his back tall in front of her was just another victim of fate.

She sighed.

 _Just like me._

She had slipped away in the early part of the evening to get away from the others. To think away from those who expected so much of her. To figure out why she was chosen for this task… why she was cursed? _Herald of Andraste_. A chortle escaped her lips, and the guard's brows furrowed.

 _Lovely, of course, I was staring at him when I laughed._

"I was just thinking," she said, a sardonic smile on her lips. "How I once longed to see just one tiny drop of snow. Just one tiny drop. Now, I wish, I could knock some sense into that little girl I once was."

The god inclined his head and smiled. "Yes, Herald."

Another sigh. She had no desire to be a herald of anything. Never a faithful woman even if she had been raised as such. Why should she be? At least her faith was a choice as everything else was dictated. Her entire life was ordered and planned out. At a young age, her sole purpose was to be given over to the templars to serve. So, she was given to them, stripped away from her mother's arms. No choice had been given. Her life seemed to be laid out for her, every happy moment and tragedy. Line after line. There was no way to alter her fate. Even this accident, being named the Herald of Andraste, no choice was given. She set her jaw.

 _At least my faith is my own._

The green light hummed along her palm, flickering lights hanging in the air—a reminder of the chains wrapped around her. _The puppet dangling on strings_. Cold air pressed against her face and the sweat on her brow iced over. Maker, it was cold.

A guttural cry echoed throughout the camp, deep within the tents. Evelyn charged towards the source, hands brushing against her sword, rushing into Cullen's tent. The man was writhing in his sleep, sweat dropping from his close-cropped hair. His face was ashen and his lips pale. Blankets covered a narrow waist, but the chest her eyes were fixed upon was bare and muscular. A _very_ bare chest. His biceps were bulging, flexing with each toss and turn. His body was a piece of art, sculpted and chiseled to perfection. Did the temperature increase?

She shook her head.

He cried out once again.

Indecision paralyzed her. What could she do? If she attempted to wake him, he could attack.

"No!" His voice was hoarse and distressed. A decision was made. Soft fingers shook his shoulders, his thick muscles taunt. Eyes snapped open, but he did not appear to see her.

"Away from me, vile demon!"

His hand clenched into fists and flew at her. The impact staggered her. Light danced in her vision and she shook it off. "Cullen, you're safe. It's Evelyn." She stood a respectable distance. A bruise was already forming on her cheek.

"Evelyn?"

"Yes."

He grasped the sheets around his waist and pushed up with his elbow. He stared at her cheek, drawing his lips into a hard, flat line. "I have wounded you."

"Oh, it's okay. Nothing I haven't faced before." She smirked. He glanced to the ground. _Probably not the best thing to say, stupid me_. "I mean… you hit like my baby sister."

"Ah, I see." He looked at her, his lips twitching. It was not a smile, but it was a start. "I apologize for striking you."

"It's okay. Seems like the nightmare was intense."

"It was."

A flash of humor crossed her face. "Well, I couldn't let you go and wake up the entire camp, you know. People do need to sleep." His gaze lingered on hers. She swallowed, but her throat was dry. What was wrong with her? It was his eyes… those damn smoldering whiskey brown eyes. "And, oh Maker, could you imagine Cassandra's reaction? Imagine waking up to her!"

He cringed and formed a half-smile, but his eyes still were haunted. "Yes, I dare say she would not be pleased." His voice was husky and almost soothing. He shook his head back and forth a slow chuckle escaping his lips. "It is good you came, then."

"I think 'not pleased' is too lenient a description to what we'd face from our fierce seeker." She flashed a smile. "And, of course, I came." A pause. "Cullen?" Her hands clasped his shoulder, and he froze. "Don't worry. We all have our demons." He gave her an unblinking stare and glanced at her hands clasping his incredibly bare and naked shoulder. Evelyn could feel the slightest twitch of strong muscles against her fingertips. Warmth radiated from his skin. It was as if a hot summer day pressed against her palm. She swallowed and stepped backward. "Well if you are okay, I'll be going now."

She walked back into the night where her own demons awaited. When she ducked out of the tent, his voice followed her. It was low, so low she hardly caught it. "Yes, we do."


End file.
